We, The Superfluous
by Blazing Fool
Summary: The occupation of Hidden Character can have... setbacks. One ninja and one vampire set out on a quest to find a certain blonde mercenary, who really should have recruited them when he had the chance. [AU]
1. Chapter 1

Vincent Valentine was not a morning person.

This was highly understandable. He'd slept through all of them for the past thirty years.

Some people ate when they were upset. Other, perhaps somewhat morally _reprehensible_ people took their distress out on others. Still others would sit down with a good movie and cry their hearts out.

Vincent? Vincent slept. His choice of bedding aside, he felt this was not unusual. There had to be other people out there who locked themselves in coffins after their girlfriends shacked up with a mad scientist who then proceeded to perform horrible experiments that left one as a freak of nature, outcast by even the most benevolent of gods.

Honestly. He couldn't be the only one.

Still, it wasn't like he was _completely_ opposed to the idea of being conscious. Theoretically, anyway. People who tell the tale of Vincent Valentine's legendary slumber often maintained that he spent the entire hibernation locked in the basement. This was untrue. Hygiene issues aside (and yes, the mansion _did_ have a functioning bathroom, _thank_ you very much), it wasn't exactly a cakewalk trying to get some shuteye in Nibelheim. Shouting parents organizing search parties for kids lost in the mountains, frequent monster attacks, and out-of-control village bonfires kept the noise level set comfortably above a gentle roar.

And then there were the vandals. Vincent couldn't count the number of times he'd awakened, blinking in confusion, to the sight of a quivering flashlight staring down out him shortly before its owner ran off screaming. Lost Number argued that little kids were too wiry to eat. Vincent hit him over the head with a rolled-up newspaper.

Add to that three monstrous personas living in his head. Vincent did his best to quiet them down, but the plain and simple fact was that they didn't sleep when he did. He was getting pretty goddamn sick and tired of waking up with the taste of bloody rat in his mouth. It was better than letting them run loose and slaughtering the village, he sympathized, he really did. Anyone who spent more than five minutes in Nibelheim wanted to burn the place to the ground, monster or otherwise.

But, as he so often explained to the three of them, he was waiting for someone. He wasn't sure who, but he had peeked at the strategy guide and had managed to catch a glimpse of spiky blonde hair before the Planet had noticed and put him in time out.

Midgar Hair Mousse was pretty expensive, so Vincent was almost certain that he'd know his future companion by sight. To be honest, he was looking forward to it. He'd read every book in the library twice, learned two dozen foreign languages, counted the ceiling tiles fifty-three times (there were 7458 and 3/15), and had even set up a series of clues detailing where he was.

Vincent Valentine had slumbered enough. He was ready.

**Someone is coming.**

The voice of Chaos was heavy in his mind. He couldn't describe how unpleasant it was to have someone else's thoughts reverberating in one's head, but it was something you got used to over the years. Also, if he ever managed to get the demon out of his head, he was going to hit him with an aluminum bat over and over.

"Excellent." Vincent murmured, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "The time has come… Hojo will pay for the crimes he's committed. Lucrecia… I'm coming…"

_Hahahahaha! Let's get ready to do this, boys! It's murdering time!_

"The day has finally arrived for me to repent for my- wait, what?" Vincent blinked.

_What? I didn't say anything._

"Yes you did." Chaos might have been a demon set loose from the planet to destroy all living things, but in Vincent's opinion Hellmasker was the dangerous one. At least the Gallian Beast had the courtesy to clean himself every once in a while. "Something about murdering."

_I'm sure I don't know what you mean._

"Listen, this is our big day, and I'm not going to have the three of you embarrass me." Vincent retreated into his mindscape and glared at his schizophrenic soul mates (the term wasn't as nearly as romantic when Vincent used it). "Beast, fix your hair. Masker, fix his hair for him. Not with the chainsaw. No. That is what we don't want."

_You never let me have any fun._

"Shut up. Now, listen. We're going to be traveling with people. Humans. They're fleshy and bipedal and filled with little glands and fluids, just like me. I don't want you to eat them."

**Just one.**

"No."

**Just a little morsel.**

"No."

**One nibble. That's all I ask.**

"I'm running out of ways to say 'no'."

**I hope Hojo rapes you.**

An outsider staring at the coffin would see it sit as still as always for a moment, then shake violently. Vincent was shuddering.

"Alright, thank you for that, Chaos. Now. Where was I. Hairspray. I need my hairspray **because I'm a little girl who needs to look good for her man**- Chaos I swear to _God_. Take over my voice _one more time_. See what happens."

**I'm scared.** Hellmasker sniggered. There was an audible high-five.

Thirty years living in a basement did not do wonders for one's hairstyle. Vincent hurriedly brushed away some cobwebs and straightened his bangs before taking a gulp of Listerine and gargling. The footsteps on the spiral staircase were growing louder, albeit surprisingly soft. Ah, well, no matter.

With his philosophical reflections on Lucrecia and Hojo out of the way, Vincent was free to rub his claws together in anticipation and voice his own thoughts. "At last…" He smiled coldly, and some of the spiders crawling around the inside of the coffin dropped dead. "My foray into video game history…" Fantasies of going to parties with Lara Croft and Duke Nukem flashed through his mind.

The footsteps on the staircase ceased to a soft patter across the floor. Vincent lay grinning in his coffin, enveloped by the soft lips of Mrs. Pac Man and the adoration of squealing fan girls.

This was it. This was his moment. Thirty years of slumber and the occasional bathroom break had led up to this one glorious moment- where he, Vincent Valentine, would impress his mark upon the world. His name would be forever synonymous with angst and red flowing capes. Bad fanart would be drawn of him taking it from Cait Sith, but that was alright.

The time had come to be the speck of raincloud in a world of sunlight.

The coffin's lid slowly slid open, as though being pushed by a crippled lemur.

The time had come to introduce lust to an entire generation of teenage girls.

He rose without moving a muscle, swinging up like a hinged door. Gravity had no place in Vincent Valentine's world.

The time had come to take his revenge on those who had wronged him, to elevate himself up the ladder of history to the top of-

His eyes slowly adjusted to what he was seeing. Brown hair, not blonde. Oversized weapon, right, that was there, but it appeared to be a giant throwing star rather a sword. Tiny breasts, but breasts all the same.

Vincent's voice came as a pathetic whisper. "_Who the hell are_- Er-hem- Who the hell are you?"

"Hi!" chirped the Thing. "I'm Yuffie Kisaragi! Who are you?"

He looked around and saw no one else in sight. The room was empty save for one red-clad vampirical gunslinger and one ninja just a hairsbreadth away from androgyny. "Where is the rest of the party?" he asked in the hurt tones of a crossed lover. "Where is the effeminate protagonist? Where is the token black man? Where is the shot at glory I was promised?" This was wrong, this was all wrong! He had a speech- somewhere- It was very dark, and this wasn't it at all-

The girl- the "Yuffie"- blinked. "Oh, them? They left. Yeah, they got here a few days ago. Sorry about that. Did the same thing to me."

Vincent paid her no heed. "I mean I know the décor of the place can be off-putting, and Lost Number doesn't exactly smell like a bed of roses, but I did leave those hints and all-

Wait."

Light slowly dawned in his crimson eyes. His clawed hand clenched into a brass fist of fury. Slowly but surely, his bewildered and torn mind pieced it all together, and for the first time in thirty years Vincent Valentine knew outrage.

The following scream roused birds and bats from their places of roost. Children the world over suffered the sort of nightmare typically available only after watching a ten-hour monster movie marathon. An annoyed innkeeper found a suspicious yellow stain in Cloud Strife's bed sheet the following morning.

"They _**WHAT**_!?"


	2. Chapter 2

When you said the word "Turk" in most parts of Midgar (specifically the parts that didn't wear suits), it was not for no reason that everyone in the area suddenly seemed to remember an important appointment elsewhere. The reputation of the Turks was legendary, though admittedly it was less along the lines of "Bigfoot" legends and more like "Charles Manson".

They were known for a lot of things. First, killing people. Rumor had it that all Turks had precognition and instantly knew if they were going to end up killing you at some point. If a Turk smiles at you? Move to another city. Secondly, constant service as President Shinra's bodyguards meant that Turks were extremely good at keeping secrets. It was said that the list of things Tseng knew that most people didn't could fill up a library. Thirdly, all Turks could cook, but the problem was that they had this nasty habit of adding these little "extra ingredients", usually of the sorts with the skull and crossbones on the label.

And, lastly, Turks drank. They drank with skill. And also, often. A thirsty Turk was a bartender's worst nightmare.

Vincent had fallen out of practice over the years. He was currently attempting to rectify this, with moderate success.

"_Cock _jockey." he snarled, slamming his mug down on the counter. He was still distressingly sober. It could be the fault of the genetic experiments, or it might have been the fact that Nibelheim swill couldn't put a baby tortoise to sleep.

"Tell me about it." said Yuffie glumly as she cradled her Wutaian Delight, which wasn't a delight so much as it was a gastronomic Hindenburg. The bartender had been hesitant to serve a minor, but it was really quite amazing what a 4-by-4 shruiken could do to one's sense of perspective. "I was in that forest for _weeks. _Do you have any idea how hard it is to live on a diet of frog?"

"Sadly, yes." Vincent replied sourly, Hojo's exotic dabbles in the culinary field leaping to mind. "I… can't believe this. I have spent thirty years waiting for Strife to come and claim me, and now he's just passed me over. As if… As if I don't even matter."

"Yeah, that didn't sound gay."

"Shut up."

Following a bout of extreme Gallian Beast-ing, Vincent had deigned to step outside the Shinra Mansion after three decades of slumber in its walls. The first thing he did with his newfound freedom was pay a visit to every local boy between the ages of 8-40 (it had been a _long _sleep, after all) and explain to them in extremely persuasive tones that there _was _a ghost in Shinra Manor, and the next time they went blundering around in there with a flashlight it would rip them apart with its brass claws. ("I'm sorry, did I say brass? I meant bare. Bare claws." And then, he checked his watch, which was conveniently on his left arm.)

The second thing he did was get drunk, or at least make a valiant attempt.

"I…" Vincent's sable mane was dangerously close to dripping into his mug, and gently brushed against his bendy straw. "So much time spent… waiting in the darkness. The shadows… It was all I could do to stay sane."

Yuffie rolled her eyes. When Vincent spoke, you could _hear _the ellipses.

"Um, there, there?" she tried. The pale gunman glared at the wall in a way suggesting that if it did not turn into Cloud Strife's head impaled on a stick within the next five seconds, it would be reduced to so much dust. "I mean, come on, cheer up, Vinnie!"

"I don't remember being 'Vinnie'. When did I become Vinnie? I'm not Vinnie."

Yuffie floundered for a moment, but rallied magnificently. "I mean, you've always got me, right?"

The vampire let out a choked sob and slammed his head on the counter.

The bartender, who had been watching the duo scare away his regular clientele for about an hour and whose Bartender Honor was screaming at him, coughed discreetly. "Sir, ma'am, I think you've had enough…"

From his spot on the counter Vincent looked at the man. It suddenly occurred to the bartender that there were many things in life that were more important than honor and one of them was, well, having more life.

Yuffie glared at her companion. "Well thanks a _lot_! I didn't have to wake you up, you know. I just wanted to find someone like me…"

Vincent sat up and rubbed his already-bruising forehead. "…I apologize, Yuffie. That was uncalled for. The drink… it's getting to me."

"Ha! Don't worry about it." Yuffie patted him on the shoulder as he simmered at muttered curses at "the Strife-thing". "And don't worry about finding a house! You can tag along with me; I was heading back home to Wutai!"

It may have been that he was into ellipses, but fair was fair: Yuffie enunciated her exclamation points. Vincent frowned, but gave the matter some thought. He didn't necessarily need a place to stay- people tended to abandon their houses when a seven-hundred-pound monster came-a-calling -but then again he'd kept himself locked in a coffin with no company for thirty years and wasn't about to throw it away now.

And besides, he thought as he looked at her hopeful expression (and full lips and lavender eyes and feathery hair and-) it wasn't like she was _that _annoying.

In a million playthroughs, that was where it ended. Vincent and Yuffie began dating a few days later and settled down in Nibelheim, where they raised a family of four. Cloud and the rest of AVALANCHE handled Sephiroth and the Remnants and Deepground just fine without them. Vincent eventually got over Lucrecia, and Yuffie her kleptomania. They grew old together, and many years later they both died in a freak chocobo accident.

In a million playthroughs done without the aid of a strategy guide or GameFAQs, Vincent and Yuffie disappeared into anonymity, unknown or ignored by the player in control of their fate. In a million playthroughs, their careers as NPCs were extremely brief and extremely boring.

Not, however, in this one.

This is the most adorable thing I have ever seen.

Vincent snapped out of his reverie. "What?"

May I be the godfather?

Dibs on best man.

"I have no idea what you are talking about." Vincent took a sip of his mug, attempting to ignore his inner demons. It was probably some kind of a metaphor for human existence, but he was just really thirsty.

To be fair, she does look like she has nice wide child-bearing hips-

Vincent spluttered and choked on his beer as horrible realization dawned on him for the second time. "You can't _possibly mean-_"

"Uh, Vince, you feelin' okay, cuz, you're kinda talking to yourself-"

Hey, aren't you, like, 60? AHAHA! Pedophile!

"N-no- This isn't-"

"I totally understand, you know, you were locked in there for a while, makes sense that you'd want imaginary friends-"

What the hell would _you _do in Wutai? Other than Kisaragi, I mean.

"No! That's not why I'm going to Wutai-"

"So we're not going to Wutai?"

"No- I mean- yes-"

Look, he's all red and it's not us doing it for once!

"Shut UP!" Vincent roared. Was _this _the kind of life he faced? Unacceptable. He needed closure and, more importantly, he needed a certain trio of demons out of his brain. "Get your things, Yuffie. We're leaving. And I don't mean for Wutai."

"Oh, Crazy Hour's over, huh?" Yuffie shrugged and swiveled out of her stool, stretching. "Where are we going, then?"

"We're looking," growled Vincent, "for _Strife._"

"Ominous!"

"Yuffie? Shut up."


End file.
